Red Violets, Blue Roses
by etienneofthewestwind
Summary: "I heard about that.  Wasn't she pregnant?"  "He.  His identity was male, even if he hadn't had corrective surgery yet."  A multi-state serial killer and inter-agency politics confront the BAU.  AU/AR.  Mentions of Slash, Mpreg, fetal death.


**Red Violets, Blue Roses  
****by étienneofthewestwind**

**Disclaimer: **I own not Criminal Minds, otherwise cannon would be different.  
**Summary:** "I heard about that. Wasn't she pregnant?" "He. His identity was male, even if he hadn't had corrective surgery yet." A multistate serial killer and inter-agency politics confront the BAU. AU/AR. Mentions of Slash, Mpreg, fetal death.  
**Note: **This story takes place toward the end of season four. It's an alternate reality in that the story will depart from cannon and contain concepts that do not exist in the real world.

_

* * *

Miranda Hale finished threading the v-shaped fuse wire through the bomb head´s electrodes. She checked to make sure that the wire touched the mineral oil, but not the bottom of the steel crucible. The thin gray metal came close to the edge of the crucible, so Miranda gently bent the side attached to the loop holder´s electrode and adjusted the tilt of the crucible in the loop holder. Now the fuse touched the edge of the wastewater swimming on the oil, but as the wire also passed through the oil, the oil would still ignite and digest the sample. With a satisfied nod, Miranda lifted the head off its stand. She eased it onto the bomb cylinder, taking care not to jostle the electrodes against the cylinder´s walls as they descended into the metal canister. Next, she grabbed a large metal ring and placed it over the bomb head, screwing the ring tightly onto the cylinder and creating a seal between the head and cylinder. She double-checked that the vent valve was closed, and then attached the autocharger´s hose to the inlet valve._

_As compressed oxygen filled the bomb, a long beep sounded from the left. Miranda walked over to the isoperibol, an instrument that resembled two tan colored boxes with water circulating through hoses and a two liter bulb. She lifted the lid of the box with the digital display, exposing t__he other combustion bomb sitting in __a bucket of water. After recording the change in temperature, she pulled the insulated ignition wires from the terminals on the bomb head and inserted the bomb lifter's pegs into the holes in the bomb ring. Grabbing a couple paper towels, Miranda quickly transferred the bomb to a fume hood and blotted the water off the top. She turned the vent valve so that the pressurized air would leak out slowly, instead of a forceful rush that could dislodge and force out some of the bombed sample._

_The other bomb was now fully charged. Miranda wasted no time putting it into the bucket and setting the isoperibol to fire. Then she peeled off her nitrile gloves, tossing them into the solid waste. She slipped out of her lab coat and tossed the coat onto an unused counter on her way out the back of the lab. The crisp night breeze hit her the minute she stepped onto the delivery dock. As Miranda turned down the stairs, she pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. With no sign of security or plant workers, she went ahead and lit a cigarette as she strolled rapidly to the turnstyle in the fence. Only after she stepped into the parking lot would she be out of the no smoking zone, but it was not like any flammables were around._

_She closed her green eyes and inhaled deeply as she walked a few more steps. Opening her eyes again, Miranda flicked the ash at the ground. A few more steps and she unlocked the gate with her ID badge and stepped through the turnstile. She leaned back against the security fence and stared up at the moon. _

_Miranda never saw the pipe that swung out of the darkness and cracked her temple. She crumpled to the ground, blood staining her blond hair as she lay motionless. A figure in black jeans and a dark brown shirt stepped out of the shadows. The moon glinted off the chef's knife in the figure's right hand.

* * *

_

"I'm sorry," Aaron Hotchner said as his ex-wife, Haley came down the stairs. He sat on their old couch, his head in his hands as he stared at the floor. "I didn't mean to set him off." Haley sat next to him.

"He's smart enough to realize these aren't typical doctor's visits," Haley said. "Your absence was just a convenient target to lash out at."

"I meant what I blurted out." Aaron kept his eyes fixed at his feet. "I never wanted to place him in the middle of us. I just didn't expect…"

"Well, I _was_ the one who initially moved out," Haley conceded softly. "But afterward, you only called to see or speak to Jack."

Aaron winced at the bite of irritation and accusation in her last sentence. "Not at first. And it's not like I could have changed your mind, even if I were who you wanted." That last part came out with more venom than Aaron had intended. Beside him, Haley stiffened and gasped.

"Aaron—"

"I should call in, see if I can talk to Strauss before it gets too late." Aaron stood and headed toward the door, straightening his tie as he did so.

"Aaron, don—"

"We can talk after the tests tomorrow. But, I need to let her know what's going on." _Can't say I'm looking forward to _that _conversation any more than this one, _Aaron thought as he grabbed the door handle. He glimpsed Haley's reflection in a decorative mirror by the door. She had let her blonde hair down while she was upstairs. Her brown eyes were distorted in the image, but they looked hurt. Aaron sighed, suddenly weary. "I'm sorry. It's not like you weren't upfront about your type."

"Aaron!" Haley was suddenly at his side, seizing his arm as he opened the front door. "I may prefer women, but if I were only attracted to them, we _never_ would have lasted as long as we did. Not after we left that hellhole."

He felt the irrational urge to giggle at the too-accurate description of their hometown. "I know. I know…" Aaron closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the edge of the door. "It´s just... I know I'm not blameless, but in the end, no matter what I choices I made, I wasn´t good enough. I knew it, but… just couldn't figure out what to do."

"We both changed." Haley released his arm. "Maybe if I spoke up earlier, been more honest with myself…"

"Yourself?" Aaron turned to face her.

"You couldn't meet needs that I wouldn't admit having." Haley reached out and squeezed his upper arm. "You're right, you need to speak with your supervisor. But can you try to get all of tomorrow off? I think we´re overdue for a long talk."

Aaron wanted to insist they clear the air now.

Yet he also wanted to go back to the pattern they had established over the last year: not talking about anything that happened before their divorce, good or bad.

"Please. We need to get this out, so it doesn't erupt again."

"_Maybe you got to sit with the past before you can walk away from it."_

Aaron blinked, surprised at the sudden memory of Sheriff Dobson's words.

"Aaron?"

"Yes, of course," he nodded. "For Jack's sake."

"He's going to be fine," Haley said firmly as she gave his arm another squeeze. "We _all_ are."

"Of course." Aaron stepped back and caught her hand as it dropped off his arm. He gave it a squeeze. "I—" 'I love you' and 'I miss you', no matter how true, were damn stupid things to say now, of all times. "Tomorrow." He opened the storm door and stepped out onto the stoop. As the door closed behind him, he took a deep breath. The air had that musty smell that tended to precede rainfall, yet the evening sky was clear. A soft breeze blew from the west.

Aaron walked out to his sedan and rested a hand against the driver's door as he looked around his old neighborhood, nostalgia washing through him. It had changed in the fifteen months since the divorce, of course: Several roofs had been replaced thanks to last year's hail storm. The Petersons had changed landscaping. Again. The Schmidts' house now sported a hideous shade of green. Carl Jefferson had moved a year ago, but Pilar Lopez was a good woman—not that Haley had been pleased to discover her ex had run background checks on the neighbors when he no longer lived there to observe them himself.

Aaron sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. _No sense in putting this off... _he thought as he pulled up his favorite contacts. There, along with those of his team, Jess and Haley, were the home, mobile, and office numbers of his immediate superior, Erin Strauss. He selected her cell and dialed.

Within three rings, she answered with a crisp, "Strauss."

"Chief Strauss," he greeted. "I got your message."

"It's been a few hours."

Aaron bristled at the stern tone. "I was at a medical clinic all afternoon and had to turn my cell off." _And your message seemed important, but not urgent._ He closed his eyes, and he took a deep, calming breath. "I need to run by my office, if you're still there. Or I can be in early Friday morning—You might prefer that anyway. Besides whatever you need to discuss, there's something I should bring to your attention, and…" He swallowed hard. "It may take a while."

"Friday? Not tomorrow?"

"There's… additional testing tomorrow."

"I see." Strauss sighed audibly over the phone. "I'm going to be here late anyway. Come by my office as soon as you get on site."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm leaving now." Aaron opened his car door as Strauss muttered her goodbye and hung up. He locked and pocketed his cell before he slid into the car. As he slid his key into the ignition, he glanced up at the living room window, unsurprised to see a slim shadow standing where Haley had always watched when he would drive off to work. He half-heartedly gave his old wave before he backed out.

* * *

Erin Strauss sighed as she placed her phone back in its sync dock. The last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was Aaron Hotchner. The unit chief of the BAU´s top profiling team, the man was undeniably brilliant and a contributor to his unit´s success. Unfortunately, the man could also be a pain in the ass at times. Besides the reckless stunts his team was known to pull, the man could be obstinate, arrogant, and borderline insubordinate.

Hell, he had been _outright _insubordinate after that Breitkopf mess.

Erin shoved the current memo off to the side—a detailed accounting of the price differential between natural latex and non-latex nitrile rubber gloves, and the current usage rates of each—and glared at the folder sitting on the right corner of her desk. It was galling enough that the CIA had the nerve to request a psych eval on someone under her command, but their listed reasons… Hotchner would not like the close scrutiny the other agency had placed upon the BAU's recent cases any more than she did. But if they were right, it would go over even less well with him. Not to mention the rest of the office.

Erin massaged her temples and she glanced up at the clock. 5:32. Hotchner lived in DC, so his doctor was likely there. That would give her at least forty minutes before he arrived at Quantico. She could easily review Cooper's report on the Englewood case and take a break before Hotchner arrived. In the meantime, stressing about meeting with the man would only slow her down. Erin decisively grabbed the folder off the top of her stack, and realized the report would take longer than she expected. Cooper´s normally terse reports shifted to verbose when he wanted to hide something from her. The man could be as reckless as Hotchner, but at least Hotchner told it straight instead of trying to get cute.

Usually.

Erin read through the file, noting the between line clues of what events to look into to see if there was anything that could bite the BAU's ass later. She had just finished reading when Agent Hotchner knocked on her door.

* * *

_Three weeks later…_

"Damn Strauss," Derek Morgan muttered under his breath as he put the last screw into the last sheet of drywall. He stepped back, his mood better than it had been all week. Derek always enjoyed the satisfaction of a job well done.

Despite whatever game Strauss was playing at by pulling Hotch out of the field to assist her with busywork.

Derek sat on an upside down bucket and uncapped his water bottle. Strauss had gone after Hotch before, but then she reason. Not_ good _reason, in Derek´s opinion, but reason. The murder of a suspect by and subsequent suicide of a depressed girl under their watch _did _look bad and had deserved scrutiny. But an _impartial _review should have shown that with the knowledge they had then, Hotch made the right calls. Instead, Strauss had used the incident to try to get him removed. Currently, however, she had no such ammunition. The most recent case that had any sort of potential blowback, would be the leaked client list of the high-end prostitute turned serial killer. There was no evidence linking anybody to the leak. And even if Hotch had been implicated, Strauss had seemed less than sympathetic to the humiliation of men who could afford ten thousand dollar dates.

Not to mention the case was over three months ago.

Derek's ring and little finger lightly tapped the edge of his bottle as he stared at the wall. They could have used Hotch in Oregon. Not only did the team have to put up with his temporary lead—which had proven more stressful than Derek had imagined—but an extra pair of hands could have helped with the pursuit of Coakley. Maybe they could have uncovered his identity in time to catch him at his house, instead of having to engage him in a high speed pursuit while Coakley went after his next intended target. At the end of it, Reid gave himself and Detective Quin whiplash when he steered a Bureau SUV into Coakley's path to prevent the suspect's pickup from running over Garret Burke. Coakley had clocked his head against the steering wheel and passed out while trying to drive himself off a cliff. He veered into a tree, further injuring himself.

A less than optimal outcome, but not one Strauss could pin on Hotch. After all, she—

A sharp ringtone cut off Derek's thoughts. Recognizing the tone, he immediately grabbed his phone and answered. "Hotch, what's up?"

"You need to come in. A reporter has linked recent homicides in Baltimore with cases in other cities and criticized the Bureau for ignoring the victims. You guys are the only team available."

"'You guys'?" Morgan repeated. "Strauss still has you doing scutwork?"

Hotch's immediate answer was silence. Just as Morgan was about to say something, Hotch sighed and said, "It's not her doing. There's no time to explain now, but I'll fill you in later. For now, you need to come in and brief the team."

"I'll be there," Morgan flipped his phone shut and glanced around the room. "Good thing I don't have renters lined up for you yet," he said to the house before he walked out and locked the door.

* * *

An hour later, Derek looked up from the folder he was rapidly scanning as Reid entered the bullpen and headed straight toward the conference room. For the first time since the accident, the youngest profiler wore contacts instead of his old-fashioned glasses. "That's everyone," Hotch commented from where he sat at his desk. "You'd better go start the briefing."

Derek stood up from where he had been leaning against his desk. "Hotch, you just gave me this folder a few minutes ago. You've clearly had more time to look over it."

"You don't need to have the thing memorized, just give them the summary and let them read their copies. None of you have ever needed much time to review the thing and come up with suggestions." Hotch opened the door to his office. "It'll be fine."

Derek scowled at Hotch's words and the implied dismissal as he left the room. He walked rapidly to the conference room, and started speaking the minute he entered. "Last week, David Johansson, a pre-surgery transsexual, was found murdered in Baltimore."

"I heard about that," Rossi said. "Wasn't she pregnant?"

"He," Reid corrected. "His identity was male, even if he hadn't had corrective surgery yet."

"When you get inseminated, I don't think you're committed to seeing yourself as a man," Rossi countered. "Even if you don't consider yourself a woman."

"Well, Johansson called himself male, as are the activists watching the case, so we will too," Derek said flatly.

"Is that why we've been called in?" Prentiss asked. "Political pressure?"

"Not exactly," JJ picked up the remote to the display screen. A picture of another victim appeared. "Yesterday, Leslie Burke, the founder of an intersexed support group was found dead. Like Johansson, Burke was struck in the head, and then stabbed multiple times before his throat was slit."

"Same unsub?" Reid asked as he flipped through the file. "These photos don´t show enough detail to rule out a copycat."

"The coroner´s still determining that," JJ replied. "However, the local press is convinced, and has run with a serial hate crime theory. A national blogger picked up the story, and this morning published the conclusion that the Baltimore homicides are the latest work of a killer that has previously hit Miami, Boston, Philadelphia, and Atlantic City. These homicides have not been previously linked."

"How´d he link them?" Rossi asked.

"She claims to have been researching a story on sexual identity hate crimes in major US cities," Derek said. "Garcia´s checking into her background, to make sure she wasn´t tipped off, but if this blogger´s who she says she is, she´s not the unsub."

"If there is one," Rossi commented. "There´s clear similarities in victimology and cause of death, but the reports don´t have enough detail to determine if there's a unique signature."

Morgan nodded. "We´ve requested the casefiles so we can determine if they are connected. In the meantime, Baltimore Homicide has requested our assistance with their cases. We'll head out in twenty minutes."

"On the off chance it's not federal anyway?" Rossi muttered.

"These are well-publicized and politically charged homicides," JJ said. "One unsub or two, they want all the help they can get."

"And will gladly foist the potential blame on us if it is an interstate serial," Prentiss muttered with her usual cynicism about politics.

"Well if this _is _serial, I may need to send some of you to the various cities involved, so grab your go bags," Derek said. "We leave in twenty."

"Strauss is still keeping Hotch benched?" Rossi asked as the team stood. "Even with a case like this?"

"Hotch says it isn´t Strauss´ doing. And that he´ll explain when it's not so crazy."

Reid frowned. "If not Strauss, then who?"


End file.
